


how it never happened

by honey_wheeler



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes of how it didn't go and what never happened. Gen 1, seasons 1 & 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. all the mornings still to live

**Author's Note:**

> _subtitles from “Morning, Morgantown” by Joni Mitchell, “Summerlong” by Kathleen Edwards, “Kathleen” by Josh Ritter, “No One Knows My Name” by Gillian Welch, “Under African Skies” by Paul Simon, “Smoke in our Lights” by The Avett Brothers, “Lines on Palms” by Josh Pyke, and “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” by Wilco_   
> 

“Are you _sure_ there’s nothing in here?”

“I’ve looked twice, Chris,” Cassie says. “So did Jal. You don’t qualify.”

“I am a medical miracle,” Chris says, throwing down his copy of the Guinness Book of World Records in disgust. “I have died twice. I have _been_ dead a total of five minutes and nineteen seconds. Surely _that_ merits a world fucking record.”

“Not according to Guinness, it doesn’t.” Cassie tucks her feet up under her on the couch and takes the spliff Chris passes to her. Her head buzzes pleasantly. Exams are over, the sun is shining, Chris is home from the hospital for good, Sid is coming over later to spend the night. For once, it doesn’t feel like everything is just waiting to fall apart.

“Well, that’s just bollocks,” he says. “A guy dies twice and he can’t even set a record. What kind of world is this?”

“A lovely one,” Cass answers, and then giggles. He laughs and reaches over for the spliff.

“Think you’ve had enough of that, sweetheart.” He takes a long drag and holds his breath, squinting against the smoke as he expels it. “You know what we should do?”

“Go grocery shopping?” Cass suggests.

“Before that,” he says. “We should start a letter writing campaign. It is simply not right that I don’t qualify for a record. Fetch me my quill, Cass!” He holds out a hand in her direction, palm up. She rummages in her purse.

“No quills,” she says. “Only biros. Three of them. And two don’t work.”

“It’ll have to do.” She puts the working pen in his outstretched hand. He tucks it behind his ear and stretches to pick the Guinness book up from the floor, flipping through the pages in search of an address. “How’s your penmanship?” he asks her, holding the spliff between his lips as he talks. 

“Terrible,” she admits.

“Mine’s probably worse,” he says. “Ah well, we’ll make do. The world must know of my glory.” Impulsively, she leans over and kisses his cheek.

“Aw, Cass, what’s that for?”

“The world wouldn’t be nearly as lovely without you in it, that’s all,” she says with a grin and a shrug.

“Perfect!” he exclaims. “Put that in your letter.”


	2. don't look back and don't call

Anwar’s not quite sure how it happened. One minute he was talking to Abigail about Diwali, the next minute, she had him up against the wall with her hand down his pants. Not that he’s objecting, mind you. It just seems awfully sudden. And usually he has to work a bit harder than this.

“I want to fuck you,” she purrs at him. It’s more of a growl, really. He’s almost a bit frightened by her at the moment. He glances around. The party is really getting into it now and no one notices or cares that she’s violating him in the corner.

“O-okay,” he stammers. “Sure.”

“I’m going to do things to you that you’ve never imagined.” He can feel her teeth on the edge of his ear. She sticks her tongue in his ear and his mind strays to what else she might be doing with that tongue in a bit. He gulps.

“I dunno, I’ve imagined of a lot of things.”

“Not _these_ things,” she assures him

“Wow, you really like Diwali, eh?” he says with a laugh that ends on a hiss as she twists her hand and drags it up his cock. 

“No, you idiot,” she snaps. “I really like making Tony jealous.”

“This won’t make Tony jealous,” Anwar tells her automatically. She stiffens and pulls away.

“It won’t?”

“Fuck, no, Tony won’t care, he’s- hey! Where are you going? Are we still going to have sex?” There’s no answer from her retreating back. Anwar sighs, looks down at his unbuttoned fly. He should have known it was too good to be true.


	3. i know you are waiting, and i know that it is not for me

Effy’s bored. It’s a bad sign. She gets in trouble when she’s bored. She glances at Sid. He’s next to her on the couch, slouched low, mouth slack, hands dangling over his knees, a glazed look in his eyes like he’s listening to someone explain a maths problem instead of watching crap shows on the telly.

“I’m bored,” she informs him. He doesn’t respond until she nudges him with her toe. Even then, it’s not so much a response as a grunt of acknowledgement.

“That’s not a very helpful response,” she tells him.

“I could suggest you go play solitaire or get a hamster, if you like,” he says absently. She glares at the side of his face.

“He’s not coming down, you know,” she says. Every time Sid comes by, Tony doesn’t leave his room, not even to eat or use the loo.

“I know,” Sid answers, morosely. He does just about everything morosely nowadays. Moreso than usual, that is.

“Then why d’you keep coming round if you know?” she asks.

“Because.”

“Why?” she persists.

“ _Because_ ,” he repeats more emphatically. “Where’s the remote?” He hunts under the cushions, but she reaches the remote first and snatches it away from him.

“You know you don’t get the remote, now tell me why you keep coming when he doesn’t want to see you.”

“Because he’s my fucking best mate and I’m going to keep coming round until he forgives me for never showing up at the hospital, okay?” Sid explodes. “I abandoned him and now I have to punish myself by sitting here with you while you make faces and torment me and force me to watch utter shite like _What Not to Wear_ , and by the way, that Trinny woman really needs to go on her own bloody show. Now give me that.” He reaches over her, crowding her as he wrenches the remote from her hand, then settles back into the couch cushions and jabs at the buttons like they’ve personally insulted him.

“Sid,” she says.

“What.” He snaps it out so that it isn’t a question. He doesn’t look over at her, so his expression as she leans over and kisses him is one of complete shock.

“What are you doing?” he yelps, his hands coming up to catch her arms. He doesn’t push her away, though.

“I’m kissing you, Sid. Maybe you noticed?” She leans towards his mouth again, but his hands tighten and he holds her away. He’s stronger than she’d expected.

“Ef, we can’t. Tony would go mental if he found out.” She rolls her eyes.

“He already went mental,” she says. “It won’t happen again. It’s like lightning, never strikes the same place twice.”

“I’m almost certain that’s not true, Effy.” She can tell by his face that he’s confused, though. He’s loosened his grip enough now that she can crawl over and straddle his legs. His hands drop from her arms to her hips and she gives them a wiggle, just to remind him how lucky he is that she’s allowing this. “And even if he doesn’t go mental, he’s still going to be bloody well furious. Not to mention-”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” she interrupts him.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking owlishly at her from behind his glasses. “You did. Yesterday. When we were making tea and I was telling you how-”

“You’re doing it again,” she says. “Now are you going to kiss me back or do you want to watch another three hours of _Cash in the Attic_?” He appears to consider. Then he fishes out the remote and turns off the telly.

“Have it your way,” he says. “But if Tony catches us, I’m blaming you.”


	4. to a girl lost and 'lorn

“Wow.” It’s all Michelle can say. Maxxie makes a thrumming noise in his throat. She can feel it vibrate through her cheek where it rests on his chest. Her hand is splayed over his chest, fingers settling in the shallow grooves between his ribs. He doesn’t eat enough.

“Are you sure you’ve never had sex with a girl before?” she asks, craning her head up to look at his face.

“Quite sure,” he answers. “Some of us are just naturally gifted, I suppose.”

“No wonder you’re so popular.” Then another thought occurs to her. “Does this mean you think I look like a boy?” He laughs, squeezes her shoulders.

“Ah, ‘Chelle, it means we were both very drunk and you looked so sad and lonely and I couldn’t stand for you to be unhappy. That’s all.”

“So we probably won’t be doing it again,” she sighs.

“As I’m swiftly sobering up, probably not,” he says, but his voice is gentle and the words don’t sting. “That’d be taking advantage of your distraught state.” 

“Distraught state,” she muses. “That’s a delicate way of putting it.” She supposes that having your boyfriend die in your arms after he gets hit by a bus qualifies as distraught. The worst of it is how everyone else went back to normal so fast after Tony died. Even Sid, who she’d always thought would be like that faithful dog that waited at the train station for his owner for years, even after the owner was long dead.

“You’ll go back to normal, lovely,” Maxxie says as if he’s reading her mind. His hand is stroking her back, his voice so soft and kind she’s not sure she can bear it. “Someday.”

Someday. It seems far off. And imaginary. Like Neverland or Oz. “Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of,” she says finally.


	5. this is the story of how we begin to remember

At first, Cassie kisses Tony to make Sid jealous and to punish Michelle. Then she does it because it’s nice to be kissed, even if it’s by Tony, who’s still not back to himself yet.

He’s not the best kisser. He’s rather selfish, really. Closed up like a box with a lock on the lid. Like a museum after hours. Not like Sid, who kisses like he’s trying to fall right into you. But Tony always smells lovely and his hair is softer than any boy’s has a right to be. It feels almost like water, it’s so light and slippery. When she’s with him, she never feels like he’s with someone else. It’ll have to do for now.

“I’m going to help you get your hard-on back,” she announces one day. He opens his mouth and then closes it again without saying anything. He looks funny, really, like one of Chris’ fish.

“I don’t mind,” she assures him. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right,” he says hesitantly.

“So it’s no big deal. I know lots of tricks.” She gets up from her chair and holds her hand out to him. “You want your hard-on back, don’t you?”

“I guess,” he says. He looks from her hand to her face. Sometimes she can see him struggling to remember himself, who he used to be. She knows the feeling.

“So come on then,” she says gently. 

“Okay,” he finally says and takes her hand.


	6. you're not a girl, you're a waltz

“My thighs jiggle,” Jal announces. 

She’s standing in front of her mirror in her underwear, critically examining the thighs in question. Sid had been examining them too, from his vantage point on her bed. He had been since he arrived and she was still getting dressed. His examination had just been less critical. The fact that he gets to see Jal naked is still enough of a novelty that he always feels like he’s accidentally stumbled into the wrong room every time it happens.

“My arse, too,” she adds, turning and peering over her shoulder at her reflection. She gives an experimental wiggle and frowns at the result. Sid swallows hard and pulls a pillow into his lap. She notices the movement in the mirror and turns to direct her frown at him.

“Are you getting turned on by my fat arse, Sid?”

“Yes. No! Well, yes. I mean.” He reaches up to pull his cap down farther over his ears, which he knows have gone beet red. “What answer is least likely to get me slapped?”

“Funny,” she says. “I’d have thought you were the type who might go for being slapped a bit.” She arches an eyebrow at him, purses her lips in that way she has. If he hadn’t already dropped the pillow in his lap, he’d definitely need to do it now.

“I might be,” he admits in a mumble. “But your arse isn’t fat, it’s just…”

“Just…?” she prompts, turning to face him fully, her expression curious.

“It’s very nice.” She gives him a _yeah, right_ look. 

“You’re not getting away with a lame answer like that,” she says.

“Look, I’m trying _not_ to be a shallow bastard here and you’re not helping.” This whole conversation is like boxing in the dark.

“Maybe I like it when you’re a shallow bastard,” she informs him, putting one hand on her hip. 

“Oh. Erm. Well, okay, it’s…round. And perfect. And I like how it moves when you do.” He’s relieved when her face breaks into a smile.

“Do you, then?” She moves closer to stand between his knees. The pillow bumps up against her legs and she grabs it, tosses it aside. He’d cross his legs, but he can’t since she’s standing between them.

“Er. Is there any chance we could forget this conversation ever happened?” he asks hopefully. Maybe he can escape this with his dignity intact.

“Not likely,” she says.

“You’re not going to slap me after all, are you?” She grins at that and moves to kneel astride him on the bed. He has to close his eyes when her warm weight settles on his crotch. When he opens them again, they’re eye to eye. He always forgets how small she is. He keeps his eyes open when she leans forward to kiss him, her lips skittering lightly along his and across his cheek.

“Relax, Sidney,” she breathes in his ear. “I’ll be gentle.”


	7. i don't want to live like that, i want to live somewhere more like you

The knock on the door startles Effy out of a catnap. She’d dozed off lying on the scratchy carpet in front of her desk, staring at the ceiling and counting holes. The hole right above her head, she remembers, came about the week Tony got a slingshot when he was 6.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time. Effy rolls to her feet and thumbs the lock open. She doesn’t bother to see who it is before she turns and pads to her bed, climbing up to sit cross-legged in the center of the mattress. She already knows it’s Michelle.

“He still won’t say hello,” Michelle says by way of greeting.

“My brother holds quite a grudge,” Effy shrugs. “You should be glad he lets you in at all.”

“I suppose.” Michelle settles on the edge of the mattress. She looks at Effy. Effy looks back. Michelle fidgets a bit under the scrutiny, which Effy enjoys. “That’s new,” Michelle says finally, gesturing tentatively to Effy’s eye makeup and dark lipstick.

“Tony said I look like Marilyn Manson.”

“Tony’s a twat,” is Michelle’s automatic response, accompanied by a scowl. “It _is_ a bit heavy, though,” she allows, her face almost apologetic. “I could… I mean, d’you want me to…?” Michelle trails off, her fingers digging into her purse and holding up a compact. Effy considers for a moment, then she closes her eyes and turns her face towards Michelle.

“Just a tick,” Michelle says. “Need something to clean that off.” Effy feels the mattress jostle as Michelle stands, hears the door open and Michelle’s feet on the tile floor of the loo, hears her rummaging through drawers and cabinets. She keeps her eyes closed even when Michelle returns and climbs back onto the bed. The mattress dips and Effy puts a hand on Michelle’s leg to steady herself. Michelle’s wearing shorts and there’s the barest prickle under Effy’s hand, a swath of skin Michelle missed when she was shaving that morning.

“This’ll be cold,” Michelle warns, just before she pats some sort of cream on Effy’s eyelids. Effy flinches involuntarily. Michelle laughs. “I told you it would be cold.”

“Hearing’s different than feeling,” Effy answers.

“Keep ‘em closed.” Effy feels a tissue swipe carefully across her eyes and then across her lips.

“There,” Michelle says. “You can open.” Effy’s eyelids feel soft and heavy from the cream. For a second she wonders if she’ll be able to open them at all. She’s a bit disappointed when she finds she can. Michelle upends her purse and a small avalanche of tubes and pots and compacts piles up on the bedspread.

“Well, if the apocalypse comes, you’ll have plenty of…” Effy picks up one of the many gold metallic tubes and inspects the bottom. “Shimmering Peach.”

“A girl can never be too prepared,” Michelle says. “A good lippy is the foundation of your house of beauty.” Effy smirks.

“Advert tell you that?”

“No,” Michelle grins. “My mum. It’s like her motto. She probably has it cross-stitched on a pillow somewhere. Now, let’s try this.” Effy closes her eyes and submits as Michelle breaks out about three palettes of eye shadow. This is an unusual experience for her; she doesn’t usually like people messing about with her.

“You don’t have some ulterior motive for hanging out with me, do you?” Effy asks all of a sudden. She cracks her eyes open to look at Michelle. She’s surprised to see Michelle blushing.

“What does that mean?” Michelle asks, refusing to meet Effy’s eyes.

“Like, maybe you’re trying to rub his nose in it?” Michelle laughs and shakes her head.

“Or maybe I just like hanging out with you, then, you ever think of that?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“Mmm,” Effy murmurs noncommittally. “So why did you break up anyway?” She’s always been curious. When she’d asked Tony, his only answer had been, “Because she’s a cunt,” which Effy thought was rather biased.

“He’s too manipulative,” Michelle says absently as she hunts on the bed for the right lipstick. “None of it was what I wanted.”

“What is it you want, then?” Effy asks. Michelle doesn’t answer right away. She pulls the top off the lipstick in her hand, twists it up to inspect the color. It’s warm and peachy, the exact sort of color that would look smashing on Michelle. She looks at Effy like she wants to say something, but then gives her head a little shake and brandishes the lipstick.

“I want a good lippy,” she says as dabs color on Effy’s mouth. “Now blot.” She holds out a tissue and Effy obediently presses it between her lips.

“Am I lovely?” she asks Michelle with a smile. She expects Michelle to smile back. She does _not_ expect Michelle to kiss her. But there are Michelle’s lips on hers, there’s her hand warm on Effy’s knee. Effy’s eyes flutter closed and she keeps them that way, even after Michelle pulls away and sits back. 

“Ef?” She opens her eyes. Michelle looks nervous and worried. The lipstick she’d just put on Effy is smudged across her own mouth, a peachy streak on her tan skin. Effy laughs.

“It does look smashing,” she says. 

“What?” Michelle asks.

“Nothing,” Effy says, reaching out to clean off the errant lipstick with her thumb. Then she pulls back and examines Michelle’s face. “Don’t tell me you were dating my brother just to get close to me.” A guilty look flickers across Michelle’s face, chased quickly by defiance.

“Fine, I won’t tell you, then,” Michelle says, and then she grins. Effy can only grin back. She grabs a thick black eyeliner pencil and gestures at Michelle with it.

“My turn,” she says.


	8. i am trying to break your heart

“This is a stupid party,” the girl says as she flops down beside him. Tony thinks he recognizes her. That Sketch girl, the one everyone else hates. He can’t argue with her. Of course, everyone else but them seems to be having a good time. Particularly Sid, who has his tongue down Michelle’s throat. Disgusting.

“What’s your moan, then?” he asks her.

“Everyone thinks I’m a sociopath,” she tells him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. 

“You reckon they’re right?” he asks.

“Probably, yes,” she admits after a moment’s thought.

“Well, you’re probably better off,” he says. “I used to be a sociopath and I think I had a lot more fun that way.” She turns more fully towards him, interest in her eyes.

“Really? Why did you quit?”

“Hit by a bus. Amnesia. That sort of thing.”

“Right. I can see how that would throw a spanner in the works.” She turns back to face the party. He follows her line of sight and sees Maxxie making out with some random bloke Tony’s never seen before. She looks more miserable than she did when she sat down.

“Why do they think you’re a sociopath, anyway?” he asks. 

“Well, I spied on Maxxie, broke into his house, got the drama teacher fired, and poisoned Michelle so I could kiss Maxxie in the school play,” she says. “Oh, and I tied my mother to her bed. But I don’t think any of them know about that.” Tony pauses to consider all that.

“Let’s go have a drink, you and I,” he says, standing and offering her his hand. “I think we might have loads to talk about.” She stares at him for a minute before putting her hand in his and getting to her feet.

“You’re buying,” she says.


End file.
